One night whilst on the hills walking!
Sweet voice I heard; whispering, talking!
Voices coming from an old Yew tree?
Voices! yes voices, whispering, calling me.

I stopped to listen; could not believe!
Nymphs, Imps, Elves! do my eyes deceive?
Playing on the twigs; swinging on the leaf`s!
Are they real, or make believe...

I closed my eyes, to scared to look!
My hip flask from my pocket I took.
I threw the flask into the brambles,
Now only soft drinks on my rambles.

By Jim Noond.